


Case 150: The Adventure Of The Truthful Politician (1897)

by Cerdic519



Series: Elementary 221B [192]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, Supernatural
Genre: 221B Baker Street, Alternate Universe - Detectives, Alternate Universe - Victorian, Bacon, Caring, Destiel - Freeform, F/M, Fireworks, Gay Sex, Johnlock - Freeform, Justice, London, M/M, Pie, Politics, Soldiers, Untold Cases of Sherlock Holmes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-26
Updated: 2019-01-26
Packaged: 2019-10-16 00:49:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17539517
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cerdic519/pseuds/Cerdic519
Summary: ֍ Someone finds out the hard way that speaking the truth without speaking the whole truth can have some unfortunate consequences.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Northern_Gryphon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Northern_Gryphon/gifts).



_[Narration by Mr. Sherlock Holmes, Esquire]_

I have mentioned before that my wonderful John sometimes had what he always called Another Wasted Evening With Stuffed Suits When I Would Much Rather Be Home With The Man I Love and I called a fund-raising dinner for his surgery. I would sometimes go with him on these but I happened to know that Lady Fugglestone was attending this particular one and I had no wish to be anywhere near that terrible woman. Not for nothing did the ruder society magazines (which of course John never read and then told me about) call her 'Lady Foghorn'; she seemed to think that all around her were as hard of hearing as she herself was. But I did promise him some extra pie when he got back that evening.

Yes, among other things. He would deserve it after that sort of torture.

֍

Unhappily all my plans for a wonderful night with the man I love were scotched when, barely half an hour after John had left I received a telegram from Mother saying that Father had had a fall and could I come over with John? Although I was sure that he would have jumped at the opportunity to escape his evening of covering his ears, I knew how important these people were to keeping the surgery afloat and instead wired his friend Sir Peter Greenwood, who very generously sent straight back to say that he would meet me at my parents' home.

Much as I had rather expected my father's condition proved rather less than life-threatening and had, as I had guessed, been another of his ruses to avoid having to hear yet another of Mother's dreadful stories (apparently this one involved Stonehenge and I so did not want to ask!). Sir Peter kindly attended with great care and was his usual reassuring self, although when Mother later invited him to one of her Readings I definitely caught a look of sheer unbridled terror in his expression). After a difficult evening we each made our way home and I looked forward to soon being in John's arms as I knew he had to be back from his own ordeal by now.

Except that when I came into our rooms he was sitting quietly in his dressing-gown, looking far sadder than someone so beautiful should ever have to look.

“What is it?” I asked anxiously.

“I would rather not talk about it tonight, if that is all right”, he said. “Just.... people being people. Can we just.... hold each other?”

I resolved there and then that whichever 'people' had been so much 'people' as to upset the love of my life would surely pay for it and then some. But for now I quickly undressed and got into bed with him, pulling his larger frame around mine. He was not crying but I could sense a deep unhappiness in him. What on earth had happened?

֍

Thankfully John was not needed at the surgery or for any of his few remaining clients the next day, which happened to be All Saints' Eve. He was still deeply sad about something and we ate our breakfasts in silence. Once we were done he led me to the couch and we lay down together, his larger frame again holding mine.

“Sir Isaac Boughton was at the ball yesterday evening.”

I knew a little of that gentleman, a member of parliament and the sort of philanthropist who only feels he is doing philanthropy well if he spends hours telling every one just how philanthropic he really is (hardly at all in reality). A most unpleasant fellow all told; why the voters of Fitzrovia kept re-electing him to parliament the Good Lord alone knew. Unless it was just to be rid of him which I could fully understand.

“He had promised to fund the hospital that is being built for our brave veteran soldiers”, John said, “and last night he made a big overblown speech about it all. He was all very apologetic about it but apparently the company doing the building had gone bust and it looked like we would not be able to get anyone else in to take over.”

“That is bad”, I said sympathetically. “Perhaps I can help?”

He looked at me sorrowfully.

“And then I met Mr. Charles.” Seeing my confusion he quickly added, “a patient of mine.”

“Oh”, I said. “What was he doing there?”

“Hired wait staff”. John explained. “He told me that later, when some of the gentlemen retired to the smoking-room, Mr. Boughton boasted to his 'friends' that the builders were actually one of his companies and he had set it up so they would pretend to have taken his money and ran!”

I frowned.

“That is wrong on so many levels”, I said. “People like him should be taught a lesson.”

“What can be done?” John sighed. “Like you said over that American diplomat fellow, they never tell a lie so can never be accused of lying. I am sure that there must be no paper trail and if there were allegations he would either deny it or come out with more half-truths. You know how the newspapers tend to believe those with the money.”

I thought for a moment.

“So he always tells the truth?” I asked.

“As little as he can get away with but yes”, John said. “Why?”

I smiled evilly.

“Then perhaps the truth will be what gets him in the end!”

He looked at me in surprise but I would say no more. No matter how much he cudd... held me in a manly embrace.

“You were thinking that word again!” he grumbled as he pulled me closer.

I smiled but said nothing.

֍

Although it was both a holiday and the Sabbath I was sure that I could still count on the offices of our friend Miss Charlotta Bradbury. I was quite correct, especially when I told her of the reason for my call.

 _”Him!”_ she said in disgust. “I have dealt with all sorts of low-life in this job but he is right down there with that lounge-lizard of a brother of yours when it comes to people I want to slap very hard. He proposed a bill on limited voting rights for women last year but there we so many ifs, buts and maybes that it was virtually worthless. And he still got one of his almost equally unpleasant friends to talk it out!”

“He has upset John”, I said, “which makes this a deeply personal matter as far as I am concerned. He is very fond of being known as a man who always tells the truth, so let us see what happens when his own sophistry is turned against him. Now this is what I have in mind....”

֍

After thanking Miss Bradbury for her time I girded my loins and returned to my parents' house. As it was the Sabbath that meant that Mother would be holding another of her Readings and I needed her assistance in persuading Father to step in and rescue John's hospital project, even if it meant enduring Mother's latest literary effort. I mean, the Gods tricking the hero Hercules into a barracks with one hundred sex-starved Greek soldiers in the hopes he might be sexually exhausted? Ugh! One could never destroy a man through sex alone.

On the other hand, they do say that every hypothesis should be tested. Thoroughly!

֍

Monday had looked set to be a quiet day, and I served out our breakfasts while John read the _'Times'_. I had seen the article on the bottom of the front page earlier so I knew from the sudden gasp when he had spotted it. He put the paper down and looked across at me incredulously.

“Your father has stepped in and purchased all rights to the veterans' hospital”, he said, his voice awestruck, “and has pledged to have it completed for next summer.”

“Our brave men deserve the best”, I said off-handedly. “And now they shall have it.”

He looked at me in such wonder that I felt my heart was fit to burst. Then he forked over all four bacon rashers onto my plate.

“Who needs bacon when I have the perfect angel?” he smiled.

Never mind sex, it might be possible to make a man die merely though too much happiness!

֍

All right, I would take the sex as well. And I did. Twice!

֍

As I have mentioned, my parents had secured me the top-level membership at several of London's gentlemen's clubs, something I tolerated mainly because it enabled John to claim associate membership on his cards and thus placate his snobbier customers. I myself rarely visited them but felt constrained to call in on each at least once a year, if only to keep up appearances. Benfield's was one of the Mayfair ones that I did call in on a little more often, always with John as they served the most delicious apple-pie and he always pouted most adorably when I teased him over his predictable dessert choices. Today however I had another reason for calling although of course I still took John. And he still ordered pie.

I loved that man so much!

We were waiting for our desserts to come when I saw John stiffen.

“What is it?” I asked (although I knew full well what it was).

He nodded to where a rotund gentleman in an expensive suit had entered the restaurant with three others, talking far too loudly for such an establishment. The _maître d'_ looked visibly annoyed but of course did not challenge the loudmouth.

“That is Sir Isaac Boughton, the rat!” he said in a low voice. “I did not know that he was a member here.”

“The hospital fellow”, I said. “Would you wish to leave?”

He looked piteously at me. It was rather cruel of me to have suggested removing John from the vicinity of approaching pie.

“After dessert”, I said. “We would not want to waste the cook's efforts.”

He was visibly relieved, then scowled again as the baronet passed by us still talking far too loudly to sit at a nearby table.

“I do not know which one of them did it”, he grumbled, “but by God I shall find out. One of them must have gone to the papers over this!”

“I bet they will all stick together”, one of his companions said. “Servants are a clannish lot, Isaac.”

“The devil is that the _'Times'_ is lauding me to the skies over it”, Sir Isaac grumbled. “I promised the staff a big bonus, true, but I thought half a per cent was more than enough for Christmas!”

“What went wrong again?” another of his companions asked.

“Instead of half a per cent my bloody steward went and bloody well paid them half of their pay!” Sir Isaac snapped. “It has cost me a fortune, I tell you. And when I challenged him on it he showed me the note I had written, and someone had dropped a grease-stain over the first nought. No idea how it happened but that was one damn expensive bit of grease, and I cannot take the money back or the papers will crucify me!”

John just about managed to hold in a snigger. There was a lot of coughing, though. And yes, I allowed him to celebrate with a second slice.

And my slice as well.

֍

Sir Isaac Boughton's local church, All Angels, had been fund-raising for repairs to the building's roof. I had promised John that to celebrate the success of his hospital project we would have a whole week of meals at Benfield's, although I had said that I strongly doubted he would want pie every single day of the week.

He had looked at me as if I had gone quite mad!

It was Tuesday (All Souls' Day) and after our dinner at the club we had retired to the library where several members including Sir Isaac were reading the newspapers. The afternoon editions had just arrived and I managed to intercept the boy bringing them and grab one for myself. I smirked when I saw the prominent headline on page two.

Sure enough, not five minutes later one of the gentlemen sitting opposite the baronet reached that point in the paper.

“Damn generous of you, Isaac”, he said.

The baronet looked across at him in surprise.

“What?” he asked.

“Giving an expensive painting to the local church”, the other gentleman said. “I dare say they will be able to build an extension on the back of that, let alone patch up the damn roof.”

The baronet frowned.

“I very much doubt it”, he said loftily. “I did promise that idiot Kettlebrook that I would donate a work of art, but he will not be able to do much with a mere Constable school.”

“Constable school?” the other gentleman asked, clearly puzzled. “It says here that you gave them your Rubens.”

_”What!”_

Everyone looked up at the sudden noise.

“'The Reverend James Kettlebrook thanks the bounteous munificence of parishioners like Sir Isaac Boughton, whose donation of his most expensive art treasure will enable the completion of repairs to the lovely sixteenth-century church which....”

Sir Isaac was already gone. And John was looking at me suspiciously.

“Buckle up”, I smiled. “It is going to be a bumpy ride – _for some baronets!”_

֍


	2. Chapter 2

It would have been cruel of me to enjoy the fact that at Benfield's next day a certain baronet actually trembled as he opened the afternoon edition of the Thunderer. He had absolutely nothing to fear from that newspaper.

The evening edition on the other hand would be another matter. Although he would know about it soon enough judging from the young fellow who had just entered and asked for him.

“Who is that?” John whispered to me.

“Isaiah, Sir Isaac's second son”, I whispered back. “He recently married a lowly shop-worker very much against his father's wishes.”

John looked at me in surprise but further conversation was curtailed when the baronet saw who was approaching him.

“Isa?” he growled. “What are you doing here?”

“I had to come and say thank you, Father”, the young fellow said. He was absolutely nothing like his father, a shock of untidy blond hair and a pair of curious light-green eyes gave him a pleasing appearance, unlike his bloated parent. “You said that you would help May and I over our house, but we never thought you would go that far!”

The baronet looked puzzled.

“That far?” he said questioningly. “I instructed my bank to pay off five per cent of your mortgage and frankly that was far too generous of me.”

Now the young fellow looked puzzled.

“Five per cent?” he asked. “But they paid the whole thing off!”

_”What!”_

“And there was a journalist from the _'Times'_ at May's work this morning so she told him all about it”, Mr. Boughton said. “It may have made the afternoon papers but if not I am sure that it will be in the evening ones. Thank you so much, Father!”

The boy strode off leaving his father spluttering behind him. John looked at me suspiciously.

“When he checks up on that”, he said carefully, “the bank will have a letter signed by him instructing them to pay off the whole mortgage, will they not?”

“I would judge that that is _fairly_ likely”, I smiled. “Once again it is good that the baron is a man of his word. And that his benevolence is all over the newspapers – or will be this evening!”

He began to smile. And that was wonderful.

֍

Thursday the fourth of November. Sir Isaac was not at his club as he was entertaining guests at his Mayfair home. I suggested to John that perhaps that meant we too should skip going, and earned myself such a delicious pout that I very nearly threw him onto the couch and had my way with him. 

All right, a little more than very nearly. But we still made it in time for luncheon so John got his pie, which was what was important. And I got to smirk at his discomfiture when he sat down, which was almost as important.

We did not adjourn to the library afterwards as I told him I was expecting something to happen at the baronet's Mayfair home and that we would need to start for there now. We decided to walk as it was not far (although someone complained that their still-aching backside made it feel a lot further!) and soon we were in one of the superior tree-lined squares not far from a lurid bright yellow property. John winced at the sight.

“His wife Lady Alice's choice”, I said. 

“I would want to wear sun-glasses!” he muttered. “It is almost as bad as Mr. Harley Quinton's monstrosity.”

I smiled as we approached. We had timed it well; the baronet and his wife emerged from their house and came down the steps to the street below. She was a large lady and clearly someone who had what they call Presence. John looked at me inquiringly.

“He sent their carriage in for repairs last week”, I explained. “She is fond of being seen out and about so its absence has been an annoyance for her,”

I watched as a large carriage turned in at one corner of the square then turned my attentions onto the baronet. I knew the exact moment when he realized what I had done to him this time.

“Oh Isaac!” the Amazon boomed (seriously they could have heard her at Hyde Park Corner). “You bought me a brand-new carriage!”

Her husband spluttered inelegantly as the atrocity came to a halt next to them. It really was the most garish creation imaginable, with small flags and coats of arms bedecking its gold-rimmed doors. Lady Boughton clearly loved it and I did not rate her husband's chances of getting it away from her one jot.

“That must have cost him a fortune!” John muttered.

“It did”, I said. “But he did promise her 'the best', and 'the best' is what she got. If not quite what he – and his wallet - expected!”

“You are becoming quite evil in your later years”, he smiled. “I shall have to punish you if this sort of thing goes on for too much longer.”

I batted my eyelashes at him.

“Promise?”

He laughed at me.

֍

Fond as I was of this game, it was time to bring it to an end and to make sure that Sir Isaac Boughton had learned his lesson. And once again his own words were to be what would secure his downfall. There is a lot of truth in that old saying about being hoist by one's own petard.

(On a related note we had made good use of the four-poster bed and leather straps last night, and I had been the one getting hoisted while John had his way with me. That someone so beautiful, so wonderful and so mine could so easily come out with the words 'I love you' as he once more took me to Heaven and beyond were more than I truly deserved, but I would work to earn myself that right).

It was Guy Fawkes' Night, and John and I were back at Benfield's where we had dined a little way across from a visibly nervous Sir Isaac Boughton. It had been a most expensive week for him, and it was just about to threaten to become a humiliating one as well. I had already seen to that.

When the baronet stood to leave, we approached him (thankfully _someone_ had finished their third slice of pie including mine).

“Good afternoon, Sir Isaac”, I said politely. “My name is Mr. Sherlock Holmes and this is Doctor John Watson. I was wondering if you might spare us a few moments of your precious time?”

He looked at us both suspiciously.

“What do you want?” he demanded rudely.

“I think that you would rather we have this conversation in one of this estimable establishment's private rooms”, I said. “Especially as it concerns one Miss Rivers.”

He went so pale that I thought he might need John's professional services – which he would probably if grudgingly have got – and led us away to a small room not far away. Once we were all sat down he stared at us expectantly.

“Well?” he said, although I could see that he was nervous.

“This concerns a speech that you made in parliament some time back”, I said. “Concerning the removal of what are rather curiously termed 'ladies of the night' from the _environs_ of the Houses of Parliament.”

“I did”, he said shortly. “So?”

I hesitated.

“A policeman friend of mine was involved in one such move to deal with these.... ladies last night”, I said carefully. “Among those taken in for questioning was Miss Edwina Rivers.”

“Old Blessington's daughter”, the baronet said. “What is your point, Mr. Holmes?”

He was a decent rnough bluffer. But he was playing with a poor hand and unfortunately for him I knew that fact.

“Miss Rivers has made a certain allegation concerning an acquaintance of hers”, I said. “A member of parliament and someone she has known for some six years now. And during that time there has been a child.”

The baronet had gone pale.

“She has a letter from you, sir, accepting your paternity of the boy even though he has since sadly passed”, I said. “And since she would not be in her... profession without having acquired a certain understanding of human nature, she has obtained certain items from your person that only someone who had been, shall we say, _intimate_ with you could possibly have secured.”

“What do you want?” Sir Isaac demanded. “Is it not bad enough that my life has gone to pot this week without this coming in on top of everything?”

I stared at him and waited. Despite his unpleasant nature he was no fool. He got there eventually.

 _”You?”_ he said incredulously. I nodded.

“In your nefarious and sophistic dealings you crossed someone that I care very much for”, I said firmly. “Now listen to me, my lord, because I have dealt with the criminal classes long enough to know your sort. You think that by using weasel words you can slide out of promises and yet still look the philanthropist. I sincerely hope that this week has taught you otherwise.”

He shuddered but nodded fitfully.

“You will cease such behaviour as of this minute”, I said. “Otherwise two things will befall you and neither of them will be pleasant. First, your run of what you think is 'bad luck' will not only continue but will actually worsen. And second – the folder concerning Miss Rivers will be handed to your wife!”

“She would kill me!” the baronet said, horrified.

“I suppose that would be one way out of your problems”, I said. “And your first test will be in only a few hours, so we shall soon see.”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“The fireworks display that you promised your staff for this evening”, I smiled. “I rather think that one small box of fireworks might perchance be less than adequate. And if _that_ happens....”

He was already rushing from of the room.

֍

It was Saturday, the day after the fireworks the night before (outside and in!). I was sat eating breakfast and not at all smirking at the wreck of a man slouched in the chair opposite me.

“Stop with the smirking!” John grumbled. “And as for that damn shop-keeper, tell him that I shall be having Words!”

I allowed myself a snigger. To mark this annual event I had obtained a special jar of unguent from our local 'special shop'. We had tried various spicy concoctions to even further improve our couplings, and one particular one had even made John miss a day at work as he had had to stay in bed face down while, as he out it, 'the fire in my poor innards dies down'. But this latest one had been something else; an unguent which small metal particles which, when heated by being applied to a human cock, emitted a small electrical charge. No wonder it had come with an extra-large gag which users were advised to use 'for their and their neighbours' sanity'.

I made a mental note to direct my brother Luke's lover Sandy to said item. Because.

“You do not think we should try that one again?” I asked innocently as he stared piteously at the covered breakfast things. I reached over and lifted off the heavy lids, and he looked at me gratefully although it clearly hurt him even to fork out his food onto his plate.

“Only for special occasions”, he said. “And I do not know how you can just sit there like that after what we both went through.”

“Because I have nothing on below my waist”, I said casually.

Cue the quivering lip, made even more delicious this fine autumn morning as there was no earthly way he was capable of more than giving me a dirty look despite knowing what was just a few yards away from him. Hah!

֍

Reader, I had underestimated the man!

֍


End file.
